


Mad in Love

by ScarletTyler



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Meddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7740475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletTyler/pseuds/ScarletTyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conspiracy to bring a truce to the unexpected 'battle' between Thorin and Thranduil leads to something more than anybody could have hoped for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad in Love

"Have you lost your mind?" Dis demanded, barging into Thorin's bedroom with eyes sharper than his sword.

Thorin knew better than to get near his sister when she is in a mood, so he stalked away from her. "How can you still not see it for what it is? That elf would be trespassing our training camp just because his 'wealthy' and 'powerful' king of a father decided on a whim to send a representative this year."

Building up his righteous fury, he gesticulated wildly as he continued, "Where were they when we were working ourselves to death to get this even started? Writing songs and gazing at the bloody stars, I bet." He squared his shoulders and faced his sister again. "I will never let some bored Elf-Lord ruin our hard work."

"You don't even know him," Dis pointed out as she shook her head in disbelief.  

"Oh, but I do know his type," Thorin gritted out through his teeth. Memories of the injustice he had suffered hit him afresh. "This time, I will be ready."

(He had not lost his mind.)

 

* * *

* * *

 

The Dwarves and Elves had resolved their ancient feud generations ago. At least, that was what Balin told him when he was younger. With such education, Thorin was not typically hostile to anyone without provocation. But there he was now, at the welcoming ceremonies before the camp formally started, ready to give the too-blond Elf a piece of his mind.

"I know you don't want to get your dainty fingers dirty, but everyone does everything here, Elf. You have to carry your own weight around here and work from dawn til dusk." Thorin had hoped that would scare the unwanted guest away, but all his efforts were rendered useless with one icy look that sent shivers down his spine.

Nose high up in the air, the Elf dismissed him with a small wave of his hand. "I think you have no idea who you are addressing. I am Thranduil, son of—"

"Oh, I know your name, Elf. You are not—"

"I have offered you my help, and the least you can do is address me using my proper name. If not, then you are clearly as mad as your cousin Dain."

Thorin huffed at the slight, but before he could retaliate, Dis shushed him with a clear threat on her face. This is far from over, Thorin told himself as he glared at the Elf, who returned it without missing a beat.

And so it began, the battle of wills and wits that could last for the rest of the summer. Much to Thorin's dismay, his family and friends decided they liked Thranduil despite his negative campaign, a triumph over him that only took the Elf two bloody days to achieve.

Perhaps, the Elf had been right. Madness did run in his family.

(However, no soul could ever know his acquiescence to the damn Elf.)

 

* * *

* * *

 

There was a conspiracy. Of that, Thorin was quite certain.

How else did he and Thranduil end up being the instructors for sword-fighting? He knew the Elf had been 'trained' to use this weapon, but out of all the people in this camp. . . It reeked of a misguided attempt to force a friendship (or at least, a truce) between him and the Elf. He would bet all his gold that this was his sister's doing. He didn't have time to dwell on that, however, for a sparring session was coming right up.

A draw. A _bloody_ draw.

After a couple of rounds, Thorin found out that Thranduil could match him no matter how hard he swung his sword. (It could just be that the Elf had fought against him with two swords, although he would have to admit that it had been quite an impressive display of mastery and agility. Who knew?)

Thorin was about to leave the training area when he noticed a flash of red. Blood. Approaching with hurried steps, he discovered that one of Thranduil's bizarre-looking rings had inflicted what seemed to be a superficial wound on the palm of the Elf's hand. Thranduil was inspecting the bleeding area with an air of indifference, which only added fuel to the fire in Thorin's belly.

"Who wears a million bloody rings to a fight?" Thorin snarled out of frustration for he couldn't touch the Elf without permission.

"Who wears a beard on a hot summer day?" Thranduil snapped back as he closed his fingers over the wound, hiding it away from sight. "And tell me, Master Dwarf, why do you seem to have this strange obsession with my hands?" 

Flustered and speechless, Thorin refused to look away out of pride, but he could spy from the corner of his eye Dis and Balin exchanging knowing looks. "Go to Oin's tent before supper. We have lessons tomorrow morning, and I can't have you bleeding out to death in front of my students."

(He dared not to look back as he stomped away from those observing eyes.)

 

* * *

* * *

 

The conspiracy continued.

By nightfall, Thorin discovered that their tents were pitched right next to each other's, and apparently, every other space had been claimed already. If he hadn't known better, it would seem like the Valar were purposefully trying to torture him. But most likely, it was just Dis, pulling the strings from the shadows. Again.

With no other choice, he surrendered, just for tonight, so he could start afresh tomorrow and beat his sister in her own bloody mind games. He would never tamper down his hateful feelings for this damn Elf-Lord.

Days passed by, and suddenly, Thorin wasn't sure of that anymore.

Thorin hated how beautiful Thranduil was, especially in the first light of the morning sun. (Nobody could look this perfect. It's just not possible!)

Thorin hated how wonderful Thranduil was, earning the Elf adoring looks from everyone in the camp. (Except him, of course. He'd never do that.)

Thorin hated how friendly Thranduil was, even going as far as joining him on hikes to the hills nearby. (All they ever did was walk and talk, really.)

Most of all, Thorin hated how his feelings about Thranduil were growing softer, evolving with each passing day. (How the mighty had fallen, indeed.)

 

* * *

* * *

 

One day, Thorin woke up with a fever. In his attempt to avoid Thranduil, he unwittingly got roped in to his nephews' idea of a lazy afternoon down by the river. In hindsight, he really shouldn't have gone with them.

Thorin should have known that it would just backfire on him, a million times more. How else could he explain why Thranduil had been in his tent, alone with him, for the past half hour? 

"You should go. Oin shall return soon. I believe he won't be kind to me if I pass on my malady." Thorin tried to slap away the soft hands stroking his forehead.

"Oin will not be joining us. Rest assured, Master Dwarf. I am no stranger to the healing arts. Why else do you think I am here? "  
  
Sitting up from his cot, Thorin demanded with a gruff, "Is he ordering you around? You must ne—"

"Shhh. . . You don't understand," Thranduil said as he willed Thorin to lie down again with a gentle push on his shoulders. "I have ordered Oin to leave us alone. For tonight, at least."

Opening his mouth to argue back, Thorin's next words died on his lips when Thranduil offered his lap as a pillow.

Thorin hated how he didn't have the strength to refuse Thranduil, lying down on his side without any more protest. (Who would know about this anyway?)

Thorin hated how warm Thranduil's fingers were against his temples, massaging away his discomfort. (Where would the next feather-light touch be?)

Thorin hated how Thranduil hummed a random tune, sounding awfully like a perfect lullaby. (When would he hear it again after tonight?) 

Most of all, Thorin hated how he wasted his time alone with Thranduil by snoring away. (What would it take to make him stay?) 

The next morning, Thorin woke up from a soft kiss on his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly, and his heart skipped a beat. Thranduil graced him with a smile that made everything feel right again—body, mind and soul.

(Would it really be so bad to want this sight for the remainder of his mornings?)

 

* * *

* * *

  

On the last day of camp, Thorin swallowed his pride and walked up to Thranduil. They had not talked about that night in the tent, but it didn't matter. Things had fallen into place with each passing day, and he knew—they knew—how they felt for one another. He just needed to take the leap and say it out loud for the sake of his sanity.

Thorin hated how his words failed him when he tried to apologize to Thranduil for his harsh words and rude behavior. (It shouldn't be this hard for him.)

Thorin hated how Dis smacked him upside the head before turning to Thranduil and taking matters in her own hands. (It didn't have to be this way.)

Thorin hated how Thranduil apologized back to him because the Elf did absolutely nothing wrong except react. (It was all his doing after all.)

Thorin hated how Dis smacked him again as she handed Thranduil an ornate envelope. (It was an invitation to the feast for his birthday.)

Most of all, Thorin hated how this moment was ruined by his stubborn sister. (It wasn't ruined at all, but he would never admit that.)

Throwing caution to the wind, Thorin decided to ignore his sister's pointed looks and instead, to just listen to the beat of his heart. "I hate that we are parting ways, but I hate even more the uncertainty of whether I would see you again. There is nothing else I would wish from you, except for a promise that you will accept my invitation."

With a soft grin playing on his lips, Thranduil nodded and brushed his long fingers across Thorin's cheek. "Cast away your fears and doubts, meleth nîn, because here in my heart, I know that we will endure." 

Thorin leaned into the Elf's warm touch and felt all his apprehensions melt away. He couldn't even remember now why he had hated Thranduil so much in the beginning.

(Perhaps, he really did lose his mind, after all.)


End file.
